


Tell Me a Story

by celeste9



Series: Promise [35]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Sickfic, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becker has an introduction to the less pleasant aspects of child-rearing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me a Story

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Trope Bingo, 'kidfic'. Sorry, this isn't the wedding fic which I seem to remain incapable of making progress on. But it is an unintended bonus fic, so there is that. Contains puking, for which I deeply apologize... Beta by fififolle.

The weekend had actually been progressing well, considering. The kids were staying over but as of yet, there had been no catastrophes to speak of. Not even any shouting. The eye rolling and sarcasm had been minimal.

James should have known it would be too good to last.

“What do you think?” Becker was asking as he pulled open the kitchen cabinet. “Popcorn or crisps?”

“I thought you finished the crisps?”

Becker held out a bag and flourished it at him. “Had another bag. I hid it. Henry always steals them.”

James quirked an eyebrow. “How mature of you. Hiding away food from my teenage son.”

“Hey, just because your--”

“Daddy, I don’t feel good.”

At David’s voice, James turned around abruptly. “Why? What’s the matter?”

David was hugging his arms around his middle, his cheeks unusually pale. “I threw up.”

“Oh, dear,” James said and went over to David, pressing the back of his hand to David’s forehead. He felt warm and clammy, strands of his dark hair sticking to his skin.

James glanced to Becker, who was standing in the same spot James had left him in, looking somewhat shell-shocked. It might have been funny in different circumstances. It probably would be funny later. “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he said, turning David around gently.

“Will you carry me, Daddy?” David sounded so genuinely pathetic that he likely wasn’t even trying. He always seemed to regress in age when he was ill.

“Yes, all right.” James wrapped his arms around David and hefted him up, David’s head immediately falling to James’ shoulder. “Where did you throw up?”

At that instant, a shout rang out. “Oh, gross! Dad, someone’s puked all over the carpet!”

James sighed softly. “Oh, David.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” David mumbled into James’ neck.

“That’s all right,” James said, rubbing David’s back and continuing to the bedroom.

Julia was standing in the hall outside the study, pointing towards the doorway of the spare room where David usually slept. “I hope you’re going to clean that, I don’t want to be smelling it all night. Has he been touching things? His germs are probably all over the flat!”

“Be quiet, Julia,” James said, really not in the mood. “Your brother’s ill, we’ll talk about it later.” Without waiting for a response, he headed into the room, pulling back the duvet and depositing David into the bed. “Covers?”

David shook his head. “I’m too hot.”

“No covers then,” James agreed. He started to stand up.

“Don’t leave!”

James lightly stroked his fingertips down the side of David’s face. “I’m coming right back. I’ll only be gone a minute, promise. Okay?”

“Okay,” David said, his voice small.

As he left, James made note of the mess on the carpet as well as the lack of Becker’s presence. Couldn’t blame the man, really. He certainly hadn’t signed up for this. James went into the bathroom for a damp washcloth and a bowl of cool water, grabbing the bin before he left. He deposited it next to David’s bed, just in case, and sat down on the edge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Becker creep in.

Well. That was surprising.

James gently settled the washcloth over David’s sweaty forehead. “Better?”

“A little.”

“Good.” James adjusted the position of the cloth and said, “I know it’s hard when you feel sick, but you should try to sleep. You’ll feel better.”

David sighed quietly through his mouth and said, “Tell me a story?”

“Of course. Any requests?”

David thought for a moment, his eyes closed. “Tell the one about Jack.”

James smiled to himself. David had always liked that one; it was gruesome. “Jack the Giant Killer it is.”

So James told the story, speaking softly. Every so often he dipped the washcloth in the bowl of water and wrung it out, replacing it on David’s forehead. He had only got to the two-headed giant before he noticed David’s low, even, rhythmic breathing. He quieted and simply sat there, watching David sleep, until he carefully rose and stepped away.

For the first time since he’d come in, James focused on Becker.

Becker was kneeling on the ground, his eyes on James, a bucket and a towel on the floor next to him. The aforementioned mess was now nothing more than a damp spot on the carpet.

James blinked. He stared. Then he walked out of the room, bringing Becker with him. They went into the bathroom, where Becker dumped the dirty water down the drain and rinsed out the bucket.

“Becker,” James said, and then stopped.

“Hmm?” Becker dropped the towel into the laundry basket and then wrinkled his nose at the rag he must have used to scrub up the vomit. He started to toss it towards the bin, before apparently remembering it was now in David’s bedroom. He put the rag in the bucket instead.

“You,” James started and then stopped again. “You cleaned up David’s sick.”

“I did,” Becker said, sounding amused.

“You cleaned up David’s sick,” James repeated, because he felt it warranted repeating. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, you seemed to have the storytelling under control and you know how I hate to be useless. Nice story, by the way.”

“Usually I do voices,” James said and then clamped his lips tightly closed.

Too late. Becker was smirking. “Oh, darling, I do believe I’m going to need a bedtime story tonight. Otherwise I’ll simply never be able to go to sleep.”

Ignoring him, James walked into the hall and then the living room, where he found the twins on the sofa watching a movie. “Turn the volume down, I don’t want you disturbing your brother.”

Henry obliged without protest and then said, “He’s probably contagious, isn’t he?”

“Has he been in the study?” Julia asked. “Because I don’t want to sleep anywhere he’s been.”

“Well, you’re not sleeping here, this is my sofa. If you’re too terrified of imaginary germs that might possibly have infected your room, that’s your problem.” Henry faked a gasp.“He might’ve even sat on this sofa! Better go somewhere else!”

While Julia shoved her brother, hard, James, feeling the onset of a headache, said, “I don’t care where you sleep, just be quiet. I know that’s asking quite a lot of you, but perhaps you can manage for the sake of your poor, ill brother.”

He had turned to leave when Julia said, a bit louder, “I can’t get sick, you know, I’ve got papers due next week, and exams to study for, and--”

James kept walking. He heard the twins snapping back and forth at each other as he went. He sighed.

Becker, who had simply been following in his wake, snickered as he closed the door to their bedroom behind them. “Their affection for one another is inspiring. Aren’t children wonderful? A blessing, truly.”

“I think they must have been, at some point. I can never recall.”

Becker’s smile widened and he dropped a kiss on James’ nose. “I’ll bet you can’t.”

“It’s times like this that I question my decision to procreate.”

“I question that decision every time we have them over,” Becker said, flippant enough that it could only be a joke.

Still. Becker had never asked for this, never asked for James’ children to become his every time they visited. If Becker cared for them, which James believed he genuinely did, it didn’t mean he wanted to deal with the messiness of it, the things he would never escape from if they exchanged rings and declarations of loyalty.

It wasn’t fair. It had never been fair.

“So,” James said, moving away and pretending to organise the contents on top of the dresser. The room could do with a good dusting. “Wishing you could take back your proposal now?”

He felt Becker come up behind him and loop his arms around James’ waist, dropping his chin onto James’ shoulder. “Darling, I’ve just been on my hands and knees scrubbing your son’s vomit out of the carpet. If I were going to leave you, you can be sure it would have been before that.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds entirely reasonable.”

“I pride myself on my rationality,” Becker said, very seriously.

James very politely did not mention any of the occasions during their relationship when Becker had not been rational at all. He turned around until they were facing each other, Becker’s arms still hanging loosely around James’ hips.

“Is it story time now?” Becker asked, his face a perfect picture of innocence, and James smacked him on the arm.

Undaunted, Becker went on, “Well, fine, then, be that way. I’ll start: Once upon a time there lived a grumpy old man and his three grumpy children. One day, he met a dashing young--”

James put his hand over Becker’s mouth. “If you won’t take back your proposal, perhaps I might like to take back my acceptance.”

Becker’s only response was to kiss James’ palm.

James sighed again and removed his hand. “If I hear you using the word ‘sword’ in any way but the way it’s meant to be used, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

-

David was sick again during the night, though he did manage to make it to the bathroom. He was pale and drawn the next morning, and stayed in bed, curled beneath the duvet. Julia and Henry vanished after breakfast and honestly, James was glad to have them out of the flat. Better that they weren’t underfoot and he didn’t particularly want to risk the spread of David’s germs. Henry was an absolute nightmare when he was ill, and Julia was hardly better.

Actually, given her state of mind at the moment, she might even be worse.

James gave David a glass of milk to sip on sparingly. That proved most unwise, as half an hour later he threw up into the bin beside his bed. James removed the bag to dispose of but found himself passing it off to Becker instead. It was the smell, and he felt… he felt -

He ran into the bathroom and was promptly sick into the toilet. He really shouldn’t have had those eggs for breakfast.

Becker came in and rubbed James’ back soothingly, which he then ruined by saying, “Shall I tuck you into bed now, sweetie? Perhaps tell you a story to put you to sleep? We never did make it to the end of mine. I’m thinking of calling it, ‘James and the Sword of True Love’. It has possibility, I think-- I could market it as a romance novel. I’ll pose for the cover.”

“I hate you,” James said, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth.

“I know,” Becker said agreeably and passed him the tissues.

**_End_ **


End file.
